Guilt
by Ethiwen
Summary: April contemplates her life, before taking it. Not detailed enough to worry about until the suicide, Hence the T rating. Mature readers only, please.


Guilt

By: Ethiwen

Disclaimer: Still don't own RENT or the characters of said show. It all belongs to the late (and great!) Jonathon Larson

Summary: A collection of flashbacks as April contemplates her life, before taking it. PreRENT. Italics are flashbacks.

Ships: AprilxRoger

Warnings: Character death, mention of drugs and AIDS…this -is- RENT. Descriptions of suicide, and prostitution.

Spoilers: If you didn't know that April dies, then you shouldn't be reading this. It's RENT. Close this window, and go watch the movie…or listen to the soundtrack (The OBC Recording.) or something.

Author's Notes: I muse on random depressing things. This happens to be one of them. I've always wondered how April took her life (slitting her wrists, obviously, but how did she go about it? How did she -feel- about it? And of course, -why- did she do it?) This is my humble interpretation.

Thanks to AngstyRebel who contributed a ton with the plot, and to The Versatile Scarf who helped me with word choice.

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April pulled her knees into her chest as she sat in the bathtub, hot water showering down on her.

She was -afraid-.

Her tears streamed down her face, contrasting cold against the warmth of her face. April had always been -fearless-. She'd been adventurous, she'd been wild. She was a rebel.

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She had never fit in to her parent's little box of what they had considered "perfect". Her sister had. She got good grades, she had a good Christian boyfriend, and she was the President of the senior class. She fit in the box with room to spare. April had been crammed inside the box; stuffed, pushed, slammed into the cramped space. There was not enough room for April and her emotions. The box made her face what she felt.

April hated to feel. Her emotions were too violent, bridging from obsessive love to utter loathing; from deepest anguish to highest euphoria. She felt volatile, she felt restricted. She was sure more space would prevent her from the explosion that threatened to overwhelm her.

_She dropped out of high school at 17, too confined by suburbia. She wanted to break free, to let loose. She didn't want to feel anymore._

_She packed her things and headed across the river--from Jersey to New York. She had nowhere to stay, but she was convinced that she'd make her way. She was the brave one, the fearless one, the impetuous one who acted before thinking. Her instincts would help her survive._

_She lived in Central Park for a while, before meeting a friend. He never told her his name. He said most usually called him "The Man". He offered to help her get her bearings in NYC, and he found her a place to stay. A haven for druggies, and confused rebels just like she was. It wasn't much, a basement to a bar…but it was shelter. He knew she had been worried…well…weren't they all? He said he had something to take the pain away, he said she wouldn't have to -feel-._

_April hated to feel._

_She took the heroin, free at last. She didn't feel anymore. She no longer answered to rules; she no longer had to._

What April didn't realize is that humans are creatures of habit, and even when rebelling, find themselves replacing what they despised with something similar. Rules, whether she recognized it or not, defined her. Rebelling against authority had been established, ironically, by the establishment. She thought herself free of constraints, but soon she found herself under new rules: the laws of addiction. But she didn't realize it, until she found herself wanting the hit…-needing- the hit. And the man was happy to oblige for the right price…

_April didn't have any money. She was new to the city, and a seventeen year old junkie, was -not- going to be able to find a job. Of course, with "The Man" there were other forms of payment besides cash. He knew people who would pay very highly to use April. What could she do? She -needed- the drugs. She couldn't -feel-._

_One day she left the basement, to go up to the bar to meet a potential client. And that's when she saw him. He was gorgeous--bleached blonde hair shining under the lights as he growled into the microphone. They made eye contact, and she felt shivers running through her body. She flashed a smile up at him, only to have him return it full force._

"_Hey cutie, he ain't a client. Are you working here, or what?" the man hissed behind her. _

"_I'm sorry…I didn't mean--" she began. He clenched his hand around her forearm crushingly making her wince. "Yeah, cutie. You -never- mean, do you? I've half a mind to cut you off…"_

"_No, don't please." she pleaded, her eyes filling with tears. "I need it…I -need- it. I'll do anything you want…anything you say."_

"_That's what I thought." he mocked. "Now you see that man over there, purple shirt? On the left? -He's- a client. Why don't you go cozy up, and make nice with him, eh?" and he pushed her harshly toward the client._

_April went over to the man in the purple. She brushed her hand on his arm. "Hey there, handsome." she said. "What's your name?" _

"_Lukas. And what's yours, beautiful?"_

_She forced a giggle and replied, "April. So what are you doing here all by your lonesome on a Friday night? Looking for some company?" _

"_Indeed I am. How much are you asking?"_

_She painted a smile on her face. "How much are you willing to pay?"_

_-----------------------------_

April laid her head on top of her knees, closing her eyes against the water. She had lost her virginity that night to a complete stranger. She had given up her innocence for the drugs that would ruin her life. _Crackwhore, slut, floozy_… she hissed internally. It was all her fault. If she had known…

_-----------------------------_

Man after man, face after face. April forgot them all, they blended together. She didn't feel as they used her, she was comfortably numb, thanks to the heroin. If she got her money, then she got the drugs. If she got the drugs, she could be deadened, unfeeling, which was what April wanted most.

She hadn't forgotten one man though: the gorgeous rocker who had smiled at her that night. She had been watching him for the past month, as she made frequent visits to the bar. She had learned his name was Roger Davis, front man of The Well Hungarians, and he was single. But what chance did April have amidst all those groupies? Slim to none. But she decided to take her chances.

_She caught up with him as he was leaving the bar one night, after it had closed._

"_Hey…Roger Davis, right?"_

_He turned and looked at her, and she flashed the brightest smile she could muster. _

"_Yeah?" he asked._

"_April Erickson." she introduced herself. "I was watching you guys play tonight. You're brilliant."_

_She could tell he thought she was just another groupie. "Yeah thanks, whatever." he replied gruffly._

"_Something wrong, gorgeous?" she asked sweetly._

"_Nah…it's just…nevermind." he shrugged, and began walking off. He had only managed a few feet, before turning back. "It's just…you think we're good right?"_

_April nodded. "Yeah, I think you guys are incredible."_

"_Well apparently the manager doesn't think so. We lost the gig…we're eighty-sixed."_

"_Oh…that's awful. The manager doesn't know what he's doing. He's losing the next big rock group."_

_Roger scoffed. "Next big rock group, my ass. We'll never get out of playing crummy bars. Hell, apparently we can't even do -that- successfully. I just…I don't know. I don't feel like this is going anywhere. Maybe I should've chosen a different career…or something. I just feel…"_

"_It hurts to feel doesn't it?" April asked quietly._

"_Yeah. It does." he leaned against the wall in the alleyway behind the bar._

"_I hate feeling," she whispered leaning close to him, "but I found a way out."_

"_What way? Anything is better than this." _

_She pulled out a baggie filled with the crystal white powder that she had found solace in. "This way."_

_He took the bag from her, examining it carefully. "If I take this, I won't feel anymore?"_

"_It's like you were dead."_

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She had never meant to hurt anyone; she thought she had been careful. She never shared needles with anyone but Roger. She knew she had not contracted HIV through needles, but rather through prostitution. And now, because of her stupidity, she transferred the virus to Roger, the only person she had ever known who loved her, the only one who had ever understood. He was as good as dead, and it was her fault.

"_It's like you were dead."_

A prophecy spoken in an alleyway that would shape the rest of Roger's life.

And the end of April's.

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"_Ms. Erickson?"_

_She stood up, following the nurse into the sterile white room. _

"_Have a seat. The doctor will be with you shortly."_

_April glanced around the hospital room nervously. She hoped with all her heart that the cheap supermarket pregnancy test had been wrong. She- couldn't- be pregnant. _

"_Ms. Erickson? Dr. Mead." the doctor entered the room and shook April's hand. "you are here for prenatal testing?"_

"_Yes. I took a test…one of those ones that you buy in the store. It was positive. I--" her voice trembled. "I had to make sure that what it said was right."_

"_It's okay to be nervous, Ms. Erickson. It's normal. We'll just take a sample of your blood, and call you in a week's time to let you know. Is that okay?"_

_April nodded, and stuck out the arm free of track marks. _

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It was all her fault. She had persuaded Roger not to worry about a condom.

"_Mmmm…Roger." she giggled as he kissed her neck playfully. "Oh god, Roger."_

_They kissed and explored each other's bodies until the moment arrived._

"_Oh god, Roger! Take me now!" she begged him eyes full of need. _

_Roger searched around for a condom and couldn't find one anywhere. "Shit. I can't find one." he growled, pulling out drawers and emptying their contents._

"_Shhh…Rog." she whispered, pulling him close. "We don't need one."_

"_You sure, baby?" he asked._

_April nodded, and beckoned to him. "Of course. Now come finish what you started."_

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"_Hello, may I speak to April Erickson?"_

"_This is April."_

"_Ms. Erickson, this is Nancy from Dr. Mead's office. I'm calling to confirm a positive pregnancy test. Congratulations."_

"_Yes…Yes, thank you." she stuttered. _

"_Also, there were some abnormalities in your blood sample so Dr. Mead took the liberties of running it through common tests. You will get the results of your blood tests in two weeks time, by mail. Is the address you gave current and correct?"_

"_Yes. It is."_

"_Thank you for your time Ms. Erickson. Congratulations on your new arrival."_

_April hung up the phone and went into the room that she shared with Roger. She -needed- a hit. She couldn't feel this. The guilt was overwhelming-- She was drowning._

_It was her fault. She was going to have a child, a child she didn't want, a child that would destroy everything. Roger's career was just starting to take off…he didn't need a baby right now. April had ruined everything._

_She heated the heroin and injected it into her body. She -needed- this. She needed to be numb. She could handle all the problems the world gave her, all by herself, if she didn't have to feel. Heroin made her invincible._

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"_Roger! Roger, I'm going out!" April shouted. She was experiencing something much like a period, except the blood flow was much heavier and she was having the worst cramps she'd ever felt in her life. She ran into her room, she needed a hit. Just one. Just one to stop the pain._

_She injected the heroin into her veins, before she rushed her to the clinic. She was having a miscarriage._

She was told later that her heroin addiction had induced the miscarriage. She never told Roger about the child he might have had. She would carry this secret with her to the grave.

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_Murderer. _The guilt from the miscarriage had nearly drowned her. She swore off drugs, this time wallowing in the pain, rather than hiding from it. She felt she deserved to suffer. She threw them away, ridding the loft of their presence.

_The phone rang._

"_Hello, may I speak to April Erickson?"_

"_This is April."_

"_Ms. Erickson, this is Nancy from Dr. Mead's office. I'm calling with the results of your bloodwork."_

"_Yes?" April asked._

"_Ms. Erickson, I regret to inform you that you have tested positive for the HIV virus. The doctor recommends getting your partner tested. I'm sorry."_

_She had killed her baby, and now she had killed Roger._

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_Murderer. _April sobbed into her knees, hot water showering down on her. She had murdered her child. She as good as murdered Roger. She was guilty, she needed to be punished.

She left a note on the bathroom counter:

_Roger,_

_We've got AIDS. I'm sorry, baby._

_I love you._

_April_

Everything was prepared. She uncurled her body and cautiously picked up the razor blade. She took a deep breath, and slit her left wrist, vertically and horizontally, making the shape of a cross. She was weeping uncontrollably, because of the pain, and because of her guilt. _You deserve this. Murderer. _She slit her right wrist after the same fashion, letting the shower water pour over her, washing her infected blood down the drain. It was only a matter of time.

_You deserve this April. You killed them._

She could only hope they'd understand.

She deserved to die.


End file.
